


A Taste of Sunshine

by Arinia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Affectionate Crowley, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Canon, Requited Love, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 21:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arinia/pseuds/Arinia
Summary: Aziraphale hardly remembers when he's last seen Crowley truly smile. Often times it's fiendish smirks and jagged edges. After surviving the (almost) End of the World, he's resolved to change that.





	A Taste of Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> From a Tumblr prompt that read: "Aziraphale trying to make Crowley smile more often would be lovely to read, I think. Because the demon doesn't smile nearly enough, in the angels opinion. Most of the time it's all sharp grins and smirks with him and Aziraphale just yearns to see that soft, content expression of a genuine smile on his friends face."

Liberation is a funny old thing. Aziraphale had never truly understood why humans pursued it so doggedly, why they’d even be willing to lay down their fragile lives for it. It wasn’t until sitting in the Ritz, the realization dawning on him that he was no longer at Heaven’s beck and call, did he grasp the full meaning of the word. 

It was apparently having quite a noticeable affect on him, at least according to Crowley, who ran his thumb along his lips one wine soaked evening, eyebrow perfectly cocked.

“You’re smiling an awful lot lately, even for you, Angel.” 

It was hard to ignore the way his lips tingled at the simple gesture, but he was able to paint on an affronted look all the same. 

“Whatever do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be smiling?” Spreading his arms wide, gesturing to the proud little bookshop with all his knick-knacks and treasures, his eyes lingered just a few seconds longer on Crowley as he did so. “Surely even you have reasons to smile?”

A strange look flitted across those sharp features, before his pale lips curled into an all too familiar smirk. 

“Smiling’s not really my thing, you should know that by now.” 

It was far too true. Crowley was expressive, but it was all jagged edges, and fiendish grins. Had he ever seen Crowley smile? He cast his mind back through the millennia, all their intertwined history, snatching the few instances where Crowley’s face softened, just for a moment. It was rarer than a shooting star, streaking across an inky black sky, and something in Aziraphale deflated at that. 

“You should try it more,” Aziraphale implored, attempting to catch the piercing yellow eyes hidden behind the shades. “Especially well-” a delicate pause, it was still something they rarely discussed, “well, with how things are now.”

The smirk only grew sharper, but he leaned away, long limbs stretching out a little too casually. “I’ll leave the smiling to you. Call it a new Arrangement.” 

= = = =

Aziraphale, however, was nothing if not stubborn once an idea got lodged in his mind.

Crowley deserved to be happy, especially with never having to return to that festering, miserable place Below. He was determined to make him smile, a real one. The soft one that curved perfect lips and made the lines around yellow eyes crinkle. 

They were headed to brunch, at Aziraphale’s insistence, and in a rather un-Angelic act, Crowley’s infamous spectacles had vanished. It seemed rather counter-intuitive at first, since said demon was in a rather wretched mood, but Aziraphale knew the grand set-up would pay off. 

“Fish me another pair from my glove box, would you?” Crowley grumbled, sharp eyes glittering in the late morning sun. It was hard to keep the excited wiggle under control as Aziraphale opened the glove box, feigning confusion. 

“There’s something rather odd in here.” Crowley’s lips pursed together, still not glancing at his companion.

“What? What is it?” 

There was no way to contain the grin that spread across Aziraphale’s face as he handed Crowley his precious sunglasses with a scrap of paper tucked between the folded temples. Annoyance morphed into confusion, eyes flicking from the paper to the angel, and Aziraphale had to quash the disappointment he wasn’t being met with a smile.

“This is a ticket to Velvet Underground.” 

“Yes, it appears it is!” His smile widened, as if that would prompt Crowley to mimic him. “One of those _rock and roll_ shows I believe they call it these days.” He leaned closer, zeroed in on his lips for any movement upwards. “A rather rare find, I’ve heard.”

Crowley was silent a long moment, expression inscrutable, as he twirled the ticket between long fingers. When at last his lips twitched, it was to let out a sharp laugh, and Aziraphale felt his heart fall. 

“Rock and roll show? Well, I guess it’s an upgrade from _bebop_ ,” he glanced back at him, lips twisted into yet another smirk, and Aziraphale leaned back in his seat, his appetite rather vanished at that point. He had been sure, so sure, that would coax a genuine smile from his friend. Crowley put on his glasses, snapping his fingers and letting music fill the car. He was still smirking, chortling to himself like he would with a successful temptation, seemingly unaware of Aziraphale’s dour mood. 

= = = =

It was another few weeks before Aziraphale tried again, curled underneath black silken sheets, watching Crowley stretch his long spine in front of him (and how lovely it was to lay together, to experience a closeness words couldn’t adequately express). 

Normally while Crowley slept, Aziraphale stayed close by, reading a book or simply imagining all the delightful ways he could bring joy to the humans in London. Ever since the evening where he had stayed at Crowley’s flat, the weight of their own extermination bearing down on them, they made time to withdraw from the world to be close to each other. Normally, Aziraphale wouldn’t dare move from the hand curled around his own, but today had been a little different.

“Cocoa, Angel?” Crowley’s voice, thick with sleep, broke the silence. Aziraphale was already out of bed, slippers miracled onto his feet and anticipation squirming in his stomach. It was perhaps a little underhanded to make his next attempt be when Crowley was so groggy, but that was when he was most pliant. After all, what other times did Crowley’s hand reach so freely for his own, intertwining their fingers with a gentle squeeze that sent his heart soaring?

But, it was perhaps also not such a good idea, Aziraphale realized, when Crowley walked right past the new addition to his kitchen, snapping the mugs into existence with a lazy gesture. Aziraphale pulled away, arranging himself by the table, quite unsure of how to stand in the most noticeable way, a beaming smile gracing his face.

Crowley handed him his mug, blinking slowly a few times as his eyes trailed down Aziraphale’s arm to where his open palm was not so casually pointing at. A few seconds of silence strung out, Aziraphale’s smile still hitched to his face, straining under the lack of reaction. 

“Is this... a gift basket of alcohol?” Crowley never wore his glasses at his flat, so Aziraphale was met with the full weight of his gaze, something that sent goosebumps pricking under his collar. 

“So it would seem! A rather indulgent set of the rarest wine from every country.” Surely this, of all things, would finally make that rare smile break across Crowley’s face! Aziraphale had even tied a red ribbon around the black basket, miracling the kitchen table three times its size to fit the grandiose present. 

“Where the heaven did you get all this? Have you been hiding this from me all these centuries?” Crowley’s eyebrows were raised, and Aziraphale tried not to falter. Patience was a virtue, especially with Crowley. 

“Oh you know; here, there, everywhere,” Aziraphale replied, hand running along the ribbon in hopes Crowley would notice it. “With everything that’s happened, I figured we perhaps deserved a bit of a treat.” 

A smile did break out, but it wasn’t at all the one Aziraphale hoped for. Mischievous. _Devilish_. The one where Aziraphale was painfully reminded of what Crowley was.

“Oh, Aziraphale,” he drew out his name with a hiss, and Aziraphale swallowed in response. “That’s _hedonistic_ of you, don’t you think?” Aziraphale stammered, heat creeping up his cheeks, which only made that wicked smile grow. Sleep was all but forgotten as spindly fingers danced up his spine, whittling away Aziraphale’s will. 

“Ah, well, I-I assume this makes you rather happy?” he tried once more, feeble, because while this might be pleasurable on one level, it certainly wasn’t what he was aiming for. Crowley shrugged, tugging him closer, a fine aged wine from South Africa between their chests. 

“You could say that.” 

And Aziraphale almost was able to forget his frustration in that moment, melting into Crowley’s arms, his own smile playing on his lips. 

_Almost._

= = = =

Aziraphale was beginning to think Crowley was undermining him on purpose.

Months had slipped by, summer blooming into a golden autumn, and he had been feverishly whipping up one scheme after another to catch sight of that elusive smile. But, no matter how hard he tried, that content expression remained hidden.

There were the usual smirks and gritty laughter, the kind that sent Aziraphale’s ethereal alarm bells off and his earthly vessel tremble. There were times Crowley was simply amused, which was perhaps better than those fiendish grins, but frustratingly far from what he wanted. 

And Crowley seemed to be catching on, Aziraphale realized, one day when he had agreed to watch some rather insipid daytime television with the demon. Nails scraped through his hair, forcing Aziraphale’s eyes closed, inviting another rumble of chuckling deep within Crowley’s chest. 

“You’re lucky we’re on our own side, Angel,” the words were slick. “Otherwise I think you’d be getting much more than strongly worded notes from Head Office over these frivolous miracles.”

Aziraphale hadn’t dignified that with a response, only a huff, and a steely resolve to make Crowley smile, come Hell or high water.

An evening in October found them far outside the city, with dry leaves blowing on the streets and moonlight streaming through bare branches. Aziraphale had asked to stop on their way back from checking on Adam, having spot a hill perfect for stargazing. 

“You simply don’t get a view like this in London,” he breathed, gazing up at the awe-inspiring beauty. Crowley was beside him, a strange look of longing on his face. 

“No.” 

Aziraphale moved closer, threading their fingers together, voice soft, as if he didn’t want to disturb the sound of crickets and silence. 

“Where is Alpha Centauri?” 

“What?” Aziraphale hesitated.

“Well when... when _it_ was happening, you know... you asked me to go there with you.” Crowley levelled a look at him, and Aziraphale wished he could see the yellow eyes behind the shades. “I’ve been wondering about it ever since.” 

Seconds passed, and for a moment, Aziraphale feared he had done something terribly wrong. Until Crowley took their intertwined hands, gently guiding Aziraphale to the right and pointing above. 

“There. You see it?” he asked in a voice quite unlike his normal tone. “4.37 lightyears away. So close you could reach out and touch it.” 

There was a melancholy to his voice that made Aziraphale ache, and he pressed closer, so that the smell of fire and smoke filled his lungs. “Is it beautiful?”

“It is.” 

Moments strung out, their hearts beating in sync without even realizing it, and Aziraphale couldn’t stop staring at the entranced way Crowley gazed at the sky. 

“Take me there.” 

Crowley’s surprised, quite a feat after 6000 years, and his glasses slipped down his nose somewhat as his eyebrows shot up. But, Aziraphale was undeterred. He remembered what Crowley was before, the beauty he spun with his hands and the vivid imagination splashed across an inky black sky. It was unspoken between them, as things often were, but in this moment, their eyes said enough.

Quivering hands removed his glasses, sharp eyes gleaming in the dark, and Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat, because no amount of Hell could burn away Crowley’s perfection. Those pale lips parted, a breath ghosting in the chilled air, before curving upwards.

Finally, what Aziraphale had long sought for. The softness, the crinkle of lines around his eyes. Beatific, as close as a demon can come, and it was enough to make Aziraphale’s eyes burn with wetness at the splendour. 

“I will.” 

Still smiling, he wrapped an arm around him, pressing a kiss into Aziraphale’s curls, and he could feel that content smile buried in his hair. His own hands rose to grip the arm around his chest, letting out a breath in harmony. 

Aziraphale pulled back from his schemes as autumn gave way to white snowflakes falling softly against the windows of his bookshop. There was hardly any need for it anymore. Tucked away among the shelves, Crowley lounged on his couch, long limbs stretched, rare wine in his grasp. The glasses were always folded neatly on the table and whenever Aziraphale passed by after dissuading another customer, he was greeted with a warm smile, just for him.


End file.
